I'll Find You
by began-to-climb
Summary: Sara had been interviewed early in the morning, for she was known to have had a close relationship with the lead escape artist, Michael Scofield.
1. Park Place

**Name: **I'll Find You

**Summary: **Where will the breakouts go once they've escaped? How about to Dr. Sara's?

**Rating: **PG

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters

**Authors Note: **I was never very fond of T-Bag and C-Note, so they're not involved in this breakout; it's only Michael, Lincoln, Sucre and Abruzzi. Okay?

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Dr. Sara Tancredi walked briskly through the passage of Fox Rivers State Penitentiary to the Sick Bay, stealthily flipping through the medical records of her next patient. As she skimmed through the many words her mind only drifted off to another subject. Just outside the door to the main exam room where the convict was waiting for his medical clearing, she paused and looked out the window to the courtyard below. A heavily armed guard escorted by a veracious dog stood at every entrance and exit, scaling the other convicts who were walking the grass. During the day and especially at night, main guards trailed up and down the many levels of the prison, checking and rechecking to make sure no more prisoners had escaped.

The security at the level five prison had tightened since the previous night when four prisoners had escaped through prison walls, including the deathrow man Lincoln Burrows and his brother. All reporters and other media had been banned from the premise. It'd been less than twenty-four hours ago, yet everyone was on high alert while an unceasing amount of news coverage ran across the television stationed inside Sara's office. Michael Scofield's face flashed across the screen next to his three other accomplices every few minutes the stations were giving updates. No one had any leads so far. Every personnel had been interrogated that morning, asked if they knew anything of the men's plan to escape.

Sara had been interviewed early in the morning for she was known to have a close friendship with the lead escape artist, Michael Scofield. She had found out he had been a structural engineer, which she figured that was how he managed to make all the right clearings to bust out. She was impressed, but that didn't change the fact that he was gone. _Gone_. Sara shook her head and continued on to the Sick Bay, yelling at herself that she shouldn't even think about that man, that she should just forget about him. Her eyes roved over the papers in her hands, skimming the blurred lines. No matter how much she tried, her mind kept venturing back to the realization that she had very much been a pawn in his little plan, another piece to a puzzle that threaded the whole plan together.

The nurses that worked with her, and even a few of the CO's, made sure to keep her busy through most of the day, bringing in either a patient or themselves to keep her company. One of the nurse's in particular, Stacy, never seemed to want to leave her alone. Truth was that the two women, having worked together for so many years, were good friends and each knew everything that was happening in the prison between both of them. This included Sara's sudden change in heart for a certain young convict. Stacy had confessed to Sara that she saw the looks Sara and Michael exchanged, noticed how much time she put into caring for Michael and researching him. She saw the look in Sara and Michael's eyes when they were with each other, the small moments they thought no one saw; it was truly incredible.

"Dr. Tancredi, your seven o'clock is here." a voice interrupted.

Sara glanced up from her trance to see Stacy standing in the doorway, holding the swinging door open for the distracted doctor. A patient line was on her face, waiting for anything that came. Sara nodded and followed Stacy inside, bidding hello to the Hispanic man waiting on her. The man, recently injured in a small riot, lifted his shirt partially to reveal the minor gash on his left side, wincing slightly when Sara peeled away the clean bandage to examine the injury more closely. Sara handed the now bloodied bandage to Stacy, standing behind her, and began to peck about the wound, cringing in concentration as she went about her job.

The man was escorted from the infirmary not ten minutes later, slightly sedated and newly bandaged. Sara completed the report for him and relaxed in her swivel chair, folding one of her legs over the metal armrest while she held her coffee mug in her hands, breathing in the sweet aroma. Her eyes roamed over the room until they eventually landed on the small television screen in the corner, displaying footage of a fire somewhere in the city. She only half-listened, but then the newswoman updated the escape case and her ears perked up.

"The four fugitives on the run from Fox River State Penitentiary that escaped from their cells late last night, have been spotted. The men, one of them being Lincoln Burrows, the man accused of murdering the Vice-President's brother earlier this year, were seen in black Escalade driving into the city, passing by a neighborhood, Park Place, three times before continuing on. An eyewitness claimed that the youngest of the four had been driving. In his own words he described their actions as "strange and out of the ordinary." We will be keeping you updated as more news comes in, but if you have any information regarding the whereabouts of these men, please be sure to call this number immediately."

The mugshots of the escapee's, now slightly minimized so they could easily be lined up together, flashed across the screen, a phone number displayed underneath them as the woman continued to talk. Sara stared at Michael's face mocking her; it was the same picture she had locked away at her house from his file she had snuck out a week ago. Before she could protest, Stacy had flipped the TV off, making Michael's picture disappear, and was standing in front of the woman. Sara glared at her then looked away, embarrassed and flustered. A silence followed.

"Sara, what has gotten into you? You've been watching this thing all day and nothing about it has changed. Tell me what you're thinking." Stacy demanded.

Sara only shrugged, refusing to meet Stacy's eyes. "I don't know. Nothing. I don't know what to think anymore."

Stacy sighed and leaned against the wall opposite Sara. "You mean about Michael." When Sara didn't respond, she continued. "Sara, he's a convict, all convicts try to escape—"

"Yeah, but how many actually succeed, huh? Besides, Michael couldn't have really been what he tried to make everyone think he was. I mean, there was just something about him that was—"

"Please don't say special, please." Stacy pleaded.

"—different. I can't explain it. He just was. He was too smart to be here, though I should have known what he was planning, what he was thinking. He always talked about his brother and then he escapes with his brother, he was way too smart…"Sara's babbling trailed off and she briefly covered her face with her hand, closing her tired eyes. "You know?"

Stacy hesitated then walked across the room and sat next to Sara, pulling the woman to her in a side-hug. "You know what I know? I know that you shouldn't blame yourself for their escape. I know you do, but you couldn't have known, no matter how close you and Michael were."

Sara smiled. "We weren't that close. Doctor to patient, maybe, but nothing more."

"Oh please! Don't even try arguing that again cause you'll lose. We both know you two had a little thing for each other, a little infatuation."

"Did not!" Sara shrieked.

"Do too!" Stacy objected. The two laughed for a minute or so before it got quiet again. "You know what, I think you should take the night off."

Sara stared up at her, not believing what she was hearing. How could she take the night off when so much was happening? "What?"

"Yes, go home early. Take a long bath, watch a movie, go out to dinner, something…just get away from here."

Stacy stood and offered her hand to Sara, a smirk on her lips. Rolling her eyes then narrowing them at Stacy, she let the woman drag her to her feet. Stacy grabbed Sara's coat and gave it to her then playfully shoved her out the door, reasoning with her as she started to object to the idea, explaining all the things she had left to do. They'd reached the stairs when they both stopped, Sara halting her babbling again.

"I'll take over with anything else that happens. I don't want to see you anymore tonight and maybe some of tomorrow. Take a few days off, you could use a vacation."

"The warden,"—Sara slipped her coat on, straightening her hair so it wasn't bothering her—"would never let me do that. Not now, at least."

"Maybe I'll talk to him for you." Stacy suggested.

"You better not."

Stacy waved a hand at her. "Naw. You can do that yourself. So, you want me to call someone to walk you to your car? Like Bellick? You know, just in case."

"No, that's okay." Sara said, now inching down the stairs. "I'll be okay. Besides, they were spotted probably twenty minutes from here."

Stacy nodded. "Right, by Park Place." Stacy suddenly stopped and a face of realization came to her. "Hey, Sara." Sara stopped and looked at her, her red hair twirling around to cover some of her pale features. "Isn't Park Place your neighborhood?"


	2. Pancakes at Seven

Okay, here is my second chapter. Hope you guys like it.

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_Because I've never felt like this before  
I'm naked  
Around you  
Does it show?  
You see right through me  
And I can't hide  
I'm naked  
Around you  
And it feels so right_

_I'm trying to remember  
Why I was afraid  
To be myself and let the  
Covers fall away  
I guess I never had someone like you  
To help me, to help me fit  
In my skin_

The soft voice of Avril Lavigne calmly flowed through the timid air, breaking the tension that clung like glue. Sara inhaled and exhaled repeatedly, leaning forward slightly and narrowing her eyes as she focused on the busy street before her. Her hazel eyes shifted in and out of focus every few seconds, blurring her vision so everything her eyes were transmitting to her seemed like a lie.

Sara sighed and sat back in her seat, reminding herself to relax; that _was_ why she was taking the night off when there was work to be done back at the prison. Her thoughts rewound the last few minutes. She had been intently listening to the news, biting her lip nervously when they mentioned them, exactly like she knew she would be belittled over, when her cell phone rang. She hadn't been willing to answer any calls until she noticed it was the Pope's number. She quickly turned down the volume on the radio and grabbed the phone, brightly bidding hello to her boss.

The older gentleman had excessively voiced his concern for her well being, declaring that she had been more reclusive than normal, and that he had heard that she had been instructed to take the night off and fully agreed. Sara had been even more surprised when he said she would be taking a full two weeks off. She had instinctively thanked him, though she knew in her heart that she hadn't meant it, and clicked the phone shut, falling back against the car seat, suddenly exhausted. After that she had switched the stereo over to a CD, not wanting to prolong the pain in her heart that struck whenever she heard his name mentioned on some news cast.

She couldn't wrap her mind around the idea of two weeks not getting up every morning and having to go to work. She couldn't think of a single thing she needed to do: no chores, no things she needed to finish, no errands that needed immediate fulfilled…not one thing. She, also, couldn't imagine becoming one of those women whom had too much time of their hands and just sat around their houses, either watching old sappy romance movies or spying on their neighbors for good entertainment.

Then again, she also never imagined that she could ever fall in love with a prisoner.

Sara started to beat on the steering wheel like drums as the CD ended and another began, this time the hard-rock Green Day that Michael had requested she buy during one of his daily visits to see her. She found out that he had been a fan of the band and decided one day, when she spotted it at a record store while browsing, to buy as a spontaneous decision.

Suddenly, her eyes caught sight of a black Escalade coming towards her, driving in the opposite direction of herself on her left. Her eyes glued themselves to it, trailing further and further as it passed her in an echoing swoosh! The car never stopped for a second. Sara mentally yelled at herself for thinking that any large black SUV that she saw could possibly be him. Stacy had been right earlier; the group had been spotted circling her neighborhood, knowing Michael, and probably looking for her.

She let her thoughts run rampant the rest of the drive home, wondering again and again where Michael was. Truth was, she was deathly worried about him. Yes, they had been spotted, but she couldn't imagine in what kind of condition. For all she knew, one of them had gotten hurt and was looking for her because she was the only one they knew they could trust at the moment. Sara desperately hoped none of them were seriously injured. She prayed even more for Michael. A part of her just wanted to see him so she could settle her feelings and worries, but another part of her wished she'd never have to see him again so she didn't have to witness that certain pain again that she always seemed to see have with her when he hurt her like he had continued to do.

Sara was yanked from her thoughts when she saw her turn coming up. Like routine, she turned cautiously into her neighborhood gates and slowly advanced to her nice apartment house that she shared with another couple who lived below her. Her eyes roved over the houses that she passed, inspecting their quietness and normalness that they all pretended to have. Arriving at her block, she eased into her parking spot in front of her house and began to gather her things, including her leather briefcase and some other files, from the backseat before turning off the ignition and climbing out of her car.

Fumbling with all the things grumbled in her arms, she stumbled onto the sidewalk as she attempted to organize her contents. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a black figure standing off to the side. Stopping in her tracks, she glanced over and saw a man, hands stuffed awkwardly in his pant pockets, staring up at the house next doors to Sara's. Sara squinted her eyes, noting the familiar features of a man that she'd seen once before in these parts.

Sara rolled her eyes and continued up the clay stairs to her apartment upstairs, digging out her keys to unlock the door. Just as she got the door unlocked and was pulling out the key, a cat jumped out from the shadows, letting out a loud scream, completely catching Sara, causing her to jump out of her skin. She suppressed a shriek of her own, but her keys did fall to the floor with a clunk. Sara quickly recovered and placed her hand over her racing heart, talking gently to the frightened animal that had settled on the porch ledge, then picked up her keys, paying little attention as she entered her apartment, plunging into the blackness.

She was too busy stumbling with her keys to notice anything until someone jumped out from behind her, clamping a hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming. Her whole body went into panic mode, her brain screaming and her breath quickening almost instantly and her limbs releasing the contents in her arms. She only slightly calmed down when she heard the stranger begin to whisper in her ear; she instantly recognized the deep, scratchy voice as John Abruzzi, one of the escaped convicts. Sara noticed he smelled strongly of sweat, lots of male sweat, an overpowering aroma.

"I'm going to let you go, but you can't scream. Got it?" Abruzzi said softly, obviously trying to tell her that he meant no harm.

Sara nodded and Abruzzi released her, his hands leaving her face and leaving her with empty space and cold air. Sara whipped around, glaring at the rough looking man shrinking back into the shadows. She regained her control over her breathing and turned in a small circle as someone switched on a lamp, revealing all of her guests spread out in various part of the living room. The pad of her palm clasped to her forehead as she recognized every single face in the room.

Abruzzi was confidently positioned by the front door; Fernando Sucre was leaning against the wall in the nearest corner, staring at the phone on the coffee table while he anxiously bit on his nail; Lincoln Burrows stood nearer to Sucre, muscled arms crossed menacingly over his chest, a hard stare plastered onto his normally patient features. The only man missing was the young one, Michael Scofield, the man that haunted her thoughts nearly everyday.

"Where's Michael?" It was the only thing she could remotely think to say.

All four heads turned in unison as Michael stepped out from the other room as if on cue. Unlike the other men who had changed, Michael still bore his prison uniform. Sara couldn't help but notice how sexy he looked, but she pushed that thought away and concentrated on what was waiting right in front of her.

A mix of anger, happiness, and sadness washed over her as she easily strided across the room, noticing Michael's face lighting up with a smile, and slapped him right across the cheek. Behind them Lincoln stepped forward to move in to defend his younger brother, but Sucre's hand snapped out, laying it on Lincoln's chest to stop the larger man. The two adults needed to work things out themselves.

Sara glared at Michael as he gawked in awe at what had just happened, yet not one word was uttered between his lips. His hand slowly went up to his cheek, sprinkling his long fingers across his slapped skin, and finally looked her in the eye.

"I guess I deserved that." he finally admitted.

"Damn right you deserved it!" Sara exclaimed.

Michael snapped back to his usual demeanor and moved closer to her, trying to take hold of her wrists. "Sara—"

Sara instantly moved away, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. Since when did she cry? "No. Michael, no."

"Sara, I didn't mean for all this to turn out the way it did." Michael confessed.

Sara paused, but she suddenly voiced her opinion, all the thoughts that had been dying to get out. "You said all the questions I had have answers. Where are the answers, Michael? Why the hell did you do this? What are you doing? What are you thinking?"

"You have every right to be mad at me right now, I understand that. And I understand that you may absolutely hate me." Michael continued, holding out his hands in a surrendering gesture.

"I don't hate you, Michael. I'm mad at you, yes, but I don't hate you. Even if I wanted to be, I couldn't. I just can't be mad at you, no matter how much I want to." As Sara talked, she forgot all about their audience witnessing this argument.

Michael tilted his head. "What do you want me to say to that?"

Sara clenched her fists. "I want you to tell me you're a horrible person and that I'm being stupid and especially that I shouldn't have been worried to death about you for the past two days! That's what I want you to say!"

Sara saw Michael smile broadly before he embraced her without warning, wrapping his arms around her waist as she willing put her arms around his waist. Her reaction surprised both of them equally. "Please don't be worried about me." Michael whispered in her ear.

"I have the right to." Sara replied, the tears trilling down her cheeks as the dame broke.

She heard Michael laugh to himself then he backed away to see her beautiful face streaked with tears. Sara couldn't help but giggle when the warm touch caressed her face, wiping away any lingering tears. Sara inhaled and exhaled through her lips, gathering herself and her surroundings. She parted from Michael and for the first time, looked at all the men in the face, at once recognizing their blank faces now replaced with raw emotion.

Sara picked up her briefcase and files then glided through the rooms of the apartment, turning on the lights as she went through. The men followed her, as indicated by the loud clapping off boots on the floor. She set her items down on the kitchen table and looked at the clock; it was already seven-thirty. She entered the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water then an idea hit her. She spun on her heal to look at all the men, her curly red hair falling across her eyes, which she assented to become deeper as she stared at Michael.

"So, are you going to tell me why you're really here?" she asked.

"We need a place to stay for the night." Sucre answered and Sara nodded.

"You're the only one we can trust." Michael added.

Again, Sara nodded. She turned back around and opened the pantry, pulling out a product box and holding it up for the men to see. "Anyone interested in pancakes?"

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Okay, the second chapter has been presented. I'm reading a book now where a woman makes pancakes for a group of friends to calm them down in a stressful situation so that, and the fact that these prisoners probably don't get the best food in prison, was my inspiration for adding the pancakes in the end. Hope you liked this.


	3. Note on the Mirror

A/N: Hey everyone! Here is my third installment. To be honest with you, this chapter may not have turned out as good as the previous ones, basically because I'm forcing myself to pound this out so I can move on to the next chapter, which will definitely be my favorite. It'll be more intimate Sara/Michael so it'll be great to write. But I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway.

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Nearly two hours later and a kitchen full of uncleaned dishes, all five residents were scattered around the apartment. The bathroom down the hall was shut, only slightly opened ajar so yellow light spilled out, and the smooth sound of running water filtered out into the still area. The soft buzz of a television rang from the living room where Sara last saw Lincoln, Sucre and Michael huddled on the couch, intently watching the nine o'clock news.

The last two hours had been uneventful, to say the least. Sara had made pancakes and scrambled eggs for dinner while Michael had set plates and gotten drinks, separating himself from the rest of the group. Sara had stared at him with a look of utter confusion, unsure of why he was being so helpful, but shrugged and decided it was nice to have someone working with her so she had less to focus on. She smiled to herself when she thought about how real it seemed that the two were acting like family in that one second, working side-by-side like partners. Michael had smiled at her as he was setting plates and Sara had blushed, turning away and curling a strand of hair behind her ear.

The meal had been eaten in silence for a bit until Sucre brought up the subject of the future to break the ice. After that, not one person was quiet and it felt like a circle of friends. Sara had sat there in her chair, watching this amusing scene taking place, sipping her water and smiling to herself. None of it felt real. How had she become so mixed up in these men's lives? More than once Sara had found Michael's eyes fixated on her, a ghostly smile on his lips. Each time she would crack a smile for him and he would look away several seconds later, not wanting to appear hung up on her, but older brother Lincoln noticed.

Lincoln, seated next to Sucre, had leaned over to the young Latin man and inquired about his younger brother and the doctor. The two had watched the couple make googly eyes at each other all through dinner as they occasionally talked.

"I think he got caught up in her, even if he won't admit it. Man, you'd have to see the pleasant little smile he has after he goes to see her." Sucre mentioned. Right then, Michael had looked down at his food with a smile on his face then looked back to Abruzzi, who he had been talking to. "See, right there, amigo. Everyday I gotta see that damn smile."

After dinner, which hadn't lasted more than thirty minutes, the men had retreated to the living room, but Abruzzi took a side trip to the bathroom and that was were they were now. Sara stood in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes, and leaned on the tile bar, her eyes sweeping over her living room. She sighed and spun around on her heel, quickly moving to brace her hands on the counter now behind her.

She moved into the housework at hand just as Abruzzi debuted from the bathroom, joining the gang. She slipped on yellow rubber gloves to keep her hands from burning off in the hot water, but then decided against it and grabbed the closest plate in proximity—sans gloves—dipping it under the soapy water with a sponge in hand. She worked in silence, half-listening to the reports on the news, half in her own world, humming a popular tune under her breath. She glanced up once at her neighbor across the way and saw the shadow of the resident scurrying away from the window. Sara raised an eyebrow but ignored it; the woman was a nut job as it was.

Off in the distance, she heard the sound of feet padding the wood floor, how the floorboards creaked under the person, but didn't turn to see her visitor. She knew it was Michael; she was an expert at detecting his presence; he was the only one that tried to be quiet. She looked over slightly when he appeared at her side, picking up the cloth she had discarded on the counter to dry the dishes and taking a wet plate from her so he could dry it and set it in the metal rack against the wall.

"There was a wreck on Interstate 90." Michael declared matter-of-factly, rubbing a plate with the cloth.

"Yeah?" Sara said.

"Yeah. Spun out of control, hit the guardrail. Really have to watch these roads this time of the year, all the sleet and such."

"True. Is the person okay?" Sara questioned, not looking at him as she handed him another plate.

"Um, the drivers in ICU. Air-bag never came up or something like that."

Sara frowned. "That's horrible. Hope he'll be okay."

"They speculate he will be."

Sara handed him a plate, but this time Michael grasped her hand. She was caught off-guard. Deep brown eyes met piercing green ones. His eyes were gentle, bearing into hers with such hope for them. Red hair streaked through her line of vision, she was daring him. He was everything she wasn't. Strong, genius, passionate. And she was everything he was. Compassionate, opinionated, innocent. He had gotten halfway through her ice masked façade, learning only some about her. He looked at the ground then brought his eyes to hers again, locking her gaze with his own. She'd been his silver lining in a dark situation for those short months. She was his dream, his nightmare and his reality all wrapped into one.

His eyes told Sara everything she needed to know. His eyes told her they were safe, they told her he was there…they told her he loved her. She gasped under her heated breath as Michael slowly closed the space between them, his hand releasing hers then traveling up her arm to her neck, fingertips gliding across her skin to make her shudder. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sensations he was causing her to feel. Why did he make her melt like this?

"Michael, please…" she pleaded, opening her eyes, gazing at once into the face of Michael.

He continued to draw nearer. "What?"

Sara was ready to give in, to let him kiss her, but something in the back of her mind was nagging her. A voice. She closed her eyes again, intent to let the next minute happen like it was supposed to.

Before Michael could feel her lips, Sucre approached. Michael stopped mid-way and looked out of the corner of his eye at Sucre, who had stopped in his tracks.

Sucre held up his hands in fair defense. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Sara's eyes snapped open and noticed Michael's face still in hers. They'd been caught. Sara mentally cursed for the man's bad timing and pressed her hand on Michael's chest, pushing him away quickly to give each other space. She brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes and straightened.

"No, it's okay, Fernando. Can I help you with anything?" she asked.

Like a shy little boy, Sucre shifted his feet and wrung his hands together for several seconds before he looked Sara in the eye. In a soft tone he asked, "Dr. Tancredi, can I use your phone?"

Smiling broadly, Sara picked up the cordless phone and laid a hand on Sucre's shoulder as she handed him the phone. Sucre grinned and thanked her before running off into another room, rapidly dialing a number as he ran. Sara looked back at Michael and leaned her back against the wall, facing him.

"I was wondering when he was going to call Maricruz." Michael said.

Sara shrugged. "Hope she's alone when she gets the call. Could be quite a shocker."

"Especially since she's pregnant and the father has broken out of prison."

"Yeah, I heard about that. It's nice…he'll be a good father."

"Which reminds me…hey, Linc." Michael called, getting Lincoln's attention. "You gotta call Veronica and LJ so they'll know you're okay."

"Yeah, okay." Lincoln assured his brother, turning back to his conversation with Abruzzi.

Michael rolled his eyes at his brother and looked back at Sara, but her eyes were focused elsewhere. Michael cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

"So, that was…awkward."

Sara laughed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah, no kidding."

She stalked forward suddenly and picked up a plate to resume work, but Michael stopped her. "Why don't you go take a shower? I'll finish all this."

"Michael, this is my work, that needs to be done. I can't get in the shower, especially now." Sara stated.

"I don't care. It shouldn't matter who does it, as long as it gets done. You look exhausted. Go take a shower and I'll do this. Come on. I'll make sure these…boys stay in line."

"What's the catch?" she inquired.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not used to people helping me, so I'm just curious why you're helping me, especially washing dishes and setting the dinner table."

"Honestly…I like to be doing something. I was raised doing chores like dishes and trash, so I'm used to doing housework."

Sara narrowed her eyes at him, studying him to see if he was bluffing, but he remained serious. Sara gave up on a fight she knew Michael was going to win and sighed. "Okay, sure."

With that, Sara descended down the hall to her bedroom, leaving the men in the living room, putting full trust in Michael. Her nightclothes gathered in her arms, she nearly collided with Sucre coming out of the bathroom with the phone as she tried to go in. She shut the door, but a moment later she peaked her head out, mischievously looking at Michael who noticed her instantly.

"Hey Michael,"—she flashed a devilish grin—"no peaking."

The apartment burst into a roar of catcalls and wolf whistles, along with cheers and applauds. Sara laughed when Michael snatched up a couch pillow and hit Sucre over the head with hit before he bowed, resulting in a whole bunch of laughing. Sara rolled her eyes and retreated back into the small bathroom, running the water before stripping off her clothes.

After ten minutes, Michael was bored with watching the news and looked over at the hall where the bathroom was, trying very hard to ignore the temptation to sneak inside. Finally deciding, he stood and strolled past Abruzzi, who was apparently talking to his children, patting the older former mob boss on the back.

"Hey, man, where you going?" Sucre asked loudly.

Michael put his finger to his lips. "I'll be right back."

Sucre shook his head and collapsed against the back of the couch, slouching down like Lincoln. "Told ya, man."

Lincoln rubbed his hands over his face, groaning. "I'm so bored."

Meanwhile, Michael silently opened the door to the bathroom and slipped inside without a noise. He was engulfed in steam, but wasn't affected the littlest by it. He could see the outline of Sara's body through the thin shower curtain, heaved upward to relish the escape of the hot water. Michael gulped and forced himself to turn away so he wouldn't be caught. He wrote a quick note on the steamed mirror and escaped the room without incident, returning to his original spot. Abruzzi ended the call he was on and handed the cordless to Michael, who spontaneously tossed it to Lincoln.

"Call." Michael ordered.

Mimicking Michael, Lincoln called LJ's cellphone, waiting for his son to pick up. There was a click after four rings and LJ's sorrowful voice bid hello.

"LJ? Hey, it's Dad. Are you alone?"

XXXX

Sara twisted the crystal knob and the water pounding her naked back shut off, a droplet or two dripping from the showerhead. Sara reached her hand and grabbed the towel hanging on the hook bolted to the wall next to the shower. She wrapped the cotton fabric around her wet body, drew back the shower curtain, and stepped out on to the white rug.

Readying in silence, she dried her hair, put it up in a loose clip, and washed her face before she looked at the mirror, still misted over from her shower. A smile appeared on her lips, reading and rereading the message hand-written on the glass.

_Every cloud has a silver lining. _

That's what it said, followed by the initials MS and a sloppy heart. Sara licked her lips, thinking over the meaning of the phrase, how it contributed to their lives. Before she realized what she was doing, she threw open the door and trooped into the living room. She halted instantly when she saw Michael sitting with his brother, patiently waiting to be handed the phone. Sara lightly leaned on the wall and watched as he happily took the phone and talked to the person on the other line. He smiled and laughed, expressing his joy to be safely talking to whomever.

Sara hugged the towel to her, staring transfixed at Michael. This was a new side to him, the free-soul and comfortable Michael. Sara's heart swelled when Michael caught sight of her and winked, his smile broadening. Sara mouthed a hello then left for the bathroom to finish getting ready. Willing herself not to cry out of happiness, she blubbered out the mouth and ran her hand through the message, revealing her own reflection. She continued with her routine by applying lotion, brushing her teeth, and then getting her dressed in string pants and a black tank top.

She surfaced again not much later, fully adorned in her nightclothes, and made her way to the kitchen. Sucre, Abruzzi, Michael and Lincoln were not longer watching the news, but the censored first Nightmare on Elm Street movie. Sucre was laid upon the floor, resting his chin on a couch pillow, looking all about ready to go to sleep. Sara checked the clock; 10:13. _No wonder, _she thought, _They've been running for two days. They must be exhausted. _

Pouring herself a glass of water, she skittered off to the hall closet undetected and plucked out some pillows and blankets. She struggled slightly in carrying the full luggage under her arms, but managed to lug them to the living room, where she tossed the blankets on the floor, throwing a pillow to each of the men, who caught them without flinching. Not saying a word, she plopped down next to Michael and curled her legs underneath her body, cuddling up to Michael. Michael looked at her, eyebrow raised at her change in posture, but didn't have long because at that moment, the phone rang.

Sara bound off the couch and snatched up the phone.

"Hello." She said brightly.

"Honey, it's Dad." a rough voice introduced from the other side.

Sara's face fell and her smile faded. "Hi Dad."

All eyes turned to her immediately. There was only one slight problem with their idea of staying Sara's place for the night. The Illinois Governor, Frank Trancredi, was her father, and a disapproving father at that. Michael stood instantly at the sound of Sara mentioning her father, standing behind her for reinforcement; he knew well that the two didn't see eye-to-eye on many things, including Sara's work place.

"I'm fine, Dad. Dad, Dad—." Sara growled as her father continued to interrupt her with his rambling about the breakout at Fox River. She circled in place, waiting impatiently, until her father said something that she didn't like. "I am not staying at Aunt Jean's! I am fine where I am…I understand, Dad, but I'm not leaving and you can't make me, dammit." Michael was a little taken back by that; he'd never heard her curse before. "They won't come after me…No, it's not because of Michael! Will you leave him out of this, okay? He's a nice guy, he wouldn't do anything to harm me."

"I just need you to understand that those men are dangerous, just like everyone else you take care of at that place you call a suitable job. I just want to protect you—"

"Will you just shut up! I'm not two. I don't need your protection…I never have!"

With that, she pressed the END button, interrupting her father's outrage at her for raising her voice at him, and stared at the plain white phone. Her breath was wild and heaving, full of the pint-up anger she had had towards her father for a long many years, beginning with the first time he expressed disapproval in her choice of work major. Sara looked around at her audience and, for the first time, saw all their eyes on her. She turned around and came face to face with a concerned looking Michael.

She gently set the phone on the coffee table and brushed past Michael, hand covering her mouth to stop the sobs from escaping. The escapee's heard the bedroom door slam shut. Sucre and Lincoln looked at Michael, who was staring at where Sara once was. Sucre pushed Michael lightly and pointed at the door.

Michael didn't need to be told twice; he swallowed and headed to the bedroom, hesitating before knocking on the door.


	4. One Kiss

Previously on _I'll Find You_….

_Michael didn't need to be told twice; he swallowed and headed to the bedroom, hesitating before knocking on the door._

XXXX

The knock on the door didn't cause Sara to falter from what she was doing. She heard Michael softly utter her name into the wood, but didn't grant him permission to enter; she knew he wouldn't listen even if she said no. Her eyes ventured back to the computer screen, her fingers gently moving across the pad so the screen shifted downward, and she concentrated on what she was reading.

The door behind her creaked open, identifying the entrance of a visitor, then closed with a light click. Sara pressed the Enter key with a hard jab and the screen went white as it transferred pages. It confirmed the next page and Sara scribbled the information on a small notepad off in the corner of her desk then exited out of the site. Her last task finished, she sat back in the chair, the plastic squeaking under the movement.

"Sara, are you okay?" the cautious voice of Michael asked.

Sara swiveled around in her chair, the wheels inching forward on the hardwood floor. She brushed away a wisp of hair then flicked her hand, signaling a dead subject. "My father…we don't get along very well."

"I can see that." Michael agreed, awkwardly stuffing his hands in his pant pockets. A silence succeeded the brief talk; the two remained in their space, comfortable in each other's presence.

Michael looked around at Sara's bedroom. It looked the same as the rest of the apartment: simple, and organized. She wasn't a packrat like she claimed. When he had entered he was beside an oak dresser almost taller than he was, small and large pictures alike crowded onto the sanded surface. Michael moved around to the front of the dresser and examined each picture equally. Most were of family and friends, some were of her father speaking at a public event. There was even one of the moment he won the election that ignited him governor. Michael bent over as his eyes fell on some shots of young Sara, either sitting atop a kneeling elephant or waving with another man from inside a plane in the passenger's seat at take-off or beaming at the camera from her limonade stand in the front yard. Michael smiled; she was even cuter when she was a little girl.

He straightened and continued studying the room. A queen-sized bed attached to a black metal headboard was stuffed against the north windows, a small nightstand with a lamp, adorned with a crinkled white lampshade, standing proudly in the far corner on its right and the door to the closet on its left. A camouflage Beanie Baby bear with an American flag patch stitched to his arm accompanied the smaller knickknacks on the nightstand, along with a plastic visor with her name painted on it that her young cousin had made years ago, and a smaller object that Michael happened to look over. Two tall bookshelves full of books, papers, magazines, and binders—undoubtedly holding files over many years—laid three feet from the bed, proceeded by a fair collection of movies and CD's in racks on the floor.

Her L-shaped desk was stuffed tightly in the corner, an endless number of chords that would make your head spin if you attempted to locate all of them with their original place scrawled on the floor. A stainless glass second part to the desk was full of work objects like rulers and pens and a stapler and hole-puncher. Sara's body, slumped in her chair, eyes wandering with Michael, hid her laptop—screen now darkened—and the things crowded around it, but did not hid a vanilla folder lying wide open on the edge. Two wicker baskets, one atop the other to form a shelf type contraption, was nestled in the circle part of the desk, propped next to an older printer, folders and journals and dics squished in between the two. Yellow sticky notes were stuck to any bare surface of the printer, a few already peeling off.

Her floor, polished yet satined, was relatively naked except for the large, dark-colored threaded rug on the open floor, the white strings strung out from the base. Michael had seen crafts work like that before, but he couldn't remember where. Sara noticed his eyes on the rug.

"I got it from Mexico." She informed him, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

A smile broke onto Michael's face. "Mexico?" he questioned in a slow drawl. "So you have been there."

"The poorer parts, yes. Not the sandy beaches."

The soft chuckle graced Sara's ears and before she could process what he was doing, Michael had grabbed her hand, dragged her to her feet and twirled her under his arm. "I guess I'll have to change that, huh?"

She landed on the edge of the bed, feet swept out from under her and smiled at Michael's playfulness, but didn't say anything. Trying to regain her breath from what just happened, she suddenly realized that this was the first time she and Michael were alone. Dead alone. This would be the first time they wouldn't have someone coming in to interrupt them with another patient needing more attention or wouldn't be torn apart because Michael had to go back to his cell. Sara's heart skipped a beat thinking of the possibilities this night would have if she let it run like it was meant to.

Knots formed in her stomach and her heard swirled.

Michael stared at her, who didn't say anything nor answer him…just sat with her hands in her lap. Michael ran a hand over his shaved head, seeming to debate on what he should try next to get her to open up. For the first time, his mind drew a blank. He shuffled his feet, not daring to look at her, then a thought finally came to mind. An old memory of a time long ago that evaporated in a swirl of distilled color.

Unfortunately, it was the only way to get Sara to talk to him so he spoke. "Your father isn't that bad of a man at first impressions."

Sara shot him a look. "Excuse me?"

Michael shifted, noticing the fire in Sara's eyes. He reached her side in three strides. He knelt in front of her, on one knee, and gripped her hand. "I met him a few years ago at a convention or…something my boss forced me to attend. Your father was there. My boss introduced us, babbling on and on about how talented I am and my potential." Michael gave a weak smile, but it didn't have the desired effect that he had hoped for. Instead, Sara just narrowed her eyes even more at him. "We talked for a while until he had to make his speech. He asked for my number at work and the next week he called me up to offer me a job; structuring the new courthouse."

"That was your work?" Sara asked incredulously.

Michael grimaced and bowed his head. "Yeah, all me."

Sara placed her hand on his shoulder. "No, hey. I really liked the architects work. It was genius. So, it was you?" Michael looked at her and nodded. "Wow. That's coincidence."

"No kidding. See, I thought he was an okay guy."

"Well, you see his outer persona. No one sees him away from the press and dealing with his family. My mother just tries to blame it on his job, but I think she knows the real truth—" Sara stopped and looked away from Michael, her fingers going in between her teeth. "Michael, I'm not comfortable talking about my father, so can we not, you know?"

She stared at him as he reached up to touch her face, but she turned away, focusing on the window. She missed his hurt look. Michael understood. He heard how her father treated her. _But at least he tries, _he thought, _those flowers were pretty, even if they died. _He cleared his throat and stood, not leaving Sara's side.

"So, what are you doing with your computer?" Michael asked, asking the only question that comes to mind, no matter how stupid it sounds at a moment like this.

"Um, getting you tickets out of here." Sara answered nonchalantly.

"Sara—"

"Your flights are four forty-five. It's early and no one generally flies at that time so they'll be no one there to recognize you guys. The tickets will be under the name Tancredi so you'll have to pick them up."

"You don't have to take care of us."

"I'm a careful woman, remember? I'd feel better making sure you get out of here alive so let me do this." Michael shrugged and sat down beside her, the mattress collapsing under him. "It doesn't seem like you to not have a way out of the country after all that work to break from the prison."

Michael laughed and rubbed his face, hunched over. "We did. Abruzzi had a plane all set up for us. It fell through."

Sara arched an eyebrow. "How?"

"Basically, from the little Abruzzi told us, our plan got leaked to a few people—a few enemies of his—and the pilot is no longer of any service to us. He's buried six feet under somewhere. But thank-you."

Sara moaned. She moved further onto the bed and laid down on her side, back turned to the wall behind them. She securely tucked one arm under the pillow for further support and tucked the other hand under her chin. She closed her eyes, her exhaustion washing over her. Michael watched her and basked at how beautiful she was. He always thought she was attractive, the flawless pale skin and fiery red hair, but as the moonlight danced across her features, she was even more so. Half of her face was coated in shadow, the color of ebony, while the other glowed silver from the light outside.

Michael smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, and caressed her cheek, running his fingers over and over her smooth skin. His heart skipped a beat. Sara opened her eyes, feeling her body in the first stage of convulsing under Michael's elegant touch. Inhaling through parted lips, her body shuddered and shivered.

Michael took notice. Every bone in his body told him to kiss her, but he knew better. He respected her too much to take advantage of her like that. "Are you cold?"

Sara's eyelids fluttered. Her throat was too dry to speak, so she merely nodded. Both knew why her body reacted the way it did, but Sara was not about to let Michael disappear. Michael crawled over to the other side of her and molded himself perfectly behind her, slyly snaking his arms around her. Sara turned over so she was face to face with the man she fell in love with behind the steel bars. His steel blue eyes bore into hers, the same collected look he had when he had helped her down during the riot, but undertoned with sincerity and adoration.

"Better?" Michael breathed, his heated breath coming into close contact with Sara's lips.

Michael's fingers began to play with wisps of her hair. Sara relaxed in his arms, finally feeling protected, and nodded. She gazed up at him, her own movements of fingering the hem of his shirt matching his stride. She was in love with this man that the rest of the world saw as a nefarious criminal when all she saw was a man—a fun, protective man, an unleashed genius, a loving brother and friend—trapped in the media of lies. She didn't see what people were so afraid of. They didn't get a glimpse of the real him like she did. They were too scared to think that a man whose brother they've portrayed as sinister for a framed crime could actually be playing a role and that that was not who he was at all.

Sara nuzzled Michael's neck, breathing in his scent. For so long they couldn't do as much as touch each other unless it was part of the appointment because there were eyes everywhere and, now, here she had him with her—the very thing she wanted—and she would have to give him up.

"I missed you." she murmured against his neck, her voice shaken with pain, tears welling up in her eyes. "I tried living without you and I can't."

Michael's movements, so soothing and soft, stopped and his eyes pierced her emotions. She forgot he was good at reading people. Slowly, so she could see what he was doing, he propped himself up on one elbow and entwined his legs with hers. His free hand remained playing with her hair. Sara moved her head to the side and her hand reached out to grasp something on the nightstand. Her delicate fingers glided over the paper item in her palm then held the stem to display it to Michael. A smile cracked on his beautiful features.

Shrouded in perfect light, was the origami flower Michael had specially made for Sara's birthday.

"You kept it?" Michael was astonished. He had seen it in her office, but he never thought she'd keep it after he was gone.

"The only flower that will never die. I keep it with me, to remind myself that there are still good guys out there."

"Sara, about everything—" he started, trembling to keep himself from losing control.

Sara placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "Let's not talk about that. It's done, it's past. I was part of your grand plan to spring your brother and I've accepted it. Okay?"

Michael nodded. Sara settled her head on his arm, tracing the pattern of his tattoos, curving in and out in an intersecting design. Their eyes locked and all the world faded away around them; all they wanted to do was be right there, with each other, in each other's arms. Nothing else mattered.

Michael's fingers moved lower down Sara's face, now stroking her cheekbone, as he tried to manage the courage that needed to be said. He knew he'd have to leave in a few hours and it'd be better to get all his feelings out now then letting himself be weighed down with the regret of a moment missed.

"Can I just say…. Needing you on an emotional level was never part of the plan. Falling in love was never part of the plan."

Sara whimpered. Gazing up at him, she swallowed the lump in her throat and fought away the tears. Her hand clasped the back of Michael's neck and her thumb gently moved rhythmically across his ear. Michael lay there, waiting, but wanted to remember this moment, every detail about.

"Michael, my beautiful Michael. I want you to be free, Michael, but let me tell you something. You're not just a criminal. You're more than that. To me, anyway. You saved my life even when you didn't have to and you gave me a chance. Yes, I was hurt when I saw you with that woman, but…" The tears were falling now and her voice was shaky, but she kept going. "When I'm with you, I can do anything. I feel strong and no one can touch me. It's going to be so hard saying good-bye because you mean so much to me and I've never felt this way for anyone before."

Michael's eyes filled with tears and he closed them sharply to restrain himself. He'd waited to hear all this since he first realized he was in love, but now that it was passing her lips, he couldn't keep himself from getting emotional. It wasn't the first time she had seen him cry, but this time was more personal and more out of happiness than pain. A soft purr arose from the back of Sara's throat. Her thumb guided forward and wiped away the tears clouding the rims of his eyes. Michael held her wrist close to his face and gently kissed her pulse point, gazing at her.

Sara breathed heavily as she struggled to say the last sentence necessary. "I just want you to be happy."

Michael closed the space in between them. He tilted his head slightly and sprinkled his fingers on her jaw line before he leaned down and laid a tender kiss on her lips. It was the lightest of kisses, but it worked for both of them. Her lips were soft and moist against his. He breathed in the scent of her, light and airy, like the beach at dawn.

With one kiss, he's hooked. With just one kiss, he can change her life forever. This one kiss can do anything. This one kiss can mean everything.

Michael pulled back a little, then kissed her again. He finally pressed his forehead to hers and heaved his breath on her lips. "I'm more happy and more free when I'm with you. Nothing else matters; not my brother, not how we we're getting out of here…all that matters is that I can hold you in my arms."

Sara's hands came around the back of Michael's neck, holding him against her, as she drew him down to her. His lips nipped her, laying short, sweet kisses on her lips. For the first time they could lay bare in front of each other and let their feelings smolder between them. Sara's hands roamed over Michael's chest, feeling every inch of the broad plane, smiling as Michael playfully bit on her lip when he parted the kiss.

He laid a kiss on her forehead before her collapsed against the pillows at Sara's right, who immediately circled her arms around him, resting her head on his chest, moving with each breath he took. Michael hugged her to him, bringing her up so they were level with each other. They smiled at each other, like two little children.

Minutes past gazing silently into each other's arms before Sara's eyes grew tired. She opened and closed them rhythmically, fighting the sudden urge to sleep that her tired body craved. Michael noticed this. "Sleep, love."

As told, Sara closed her eyes one last time and drifted off into a deep slumber. Michael lay awake, watching her sleep, but didn't make any move. The house was quiet, indicating that the rest of the group had gone to sleep already or were just talking very softly. His whole body was motionless except for the gentle stroking Sara's red curls. Watching her sleep, his mind wondered. He bent down and brushed his lips across her ear.

"Sara," he whispered into her ear. She groaned, signaling she was somehow listening. "Do you love me?" She slowly nodded her head. A small smile appeared on Michael's lips. "Can I keep you?"

Sara hummed in agreement and sighed, cuddling closer to him. Michael's smile faltered slightly and he laid a kiss on her forehead before resting his head on hers then closing his eyes.

XXXX

Lincoln was first to wake up. He stretched from his position on the floor and stood, stretching his arms over his head and standing on his tiptoes to fully get his muscles released. He glanced at the clock on the TV; 3:05. He rolled his eyes and stepped over the chaos that was the floor, a battle scene of pillows, shoes, blankets and an assortment of food. Sucre and Abruzzi were still fast asleep and Lincoln had to resist the urge to pop Sucre's wide open mouth.

He tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom, careful to skip the floorboards he had observed that squeaked. The long hall was eerily silent, but the hall lights were dimmed so it wasn't total darkness. Lincoln entered and exited the bathroom rather quickly, face washed and bladder emptied. Halfway back to the living room, Lincoln remembered that he hadn't passed his younger brother among the sleepers and hadn't heard nor seen him come out of Sara's room.

Eyebrow raised at Michael's secrets and antics, he trooped to Sara's bedroom. Once he reached her room, he put his ear to the wood and listened intently for any sound of life. When he heard only silence, he cautiously creaked the door open ajar and poked his head in, letting in as little light as possible.

What he saw made him question Michael's feelings no longer.

Michael and Sara lay asleep in each other's arms, Sara using Michael's arm as a pillow just as Michael was using the pillow he was sharing with Sara. He had sunk lower down the bed so he was directly face to face with her. One of his arms was wrapped around her shoulder while the other was around her waist, protectively holding her close to him, as if to ward off any danger that dare interrupt their peace.

Lincoln nodded and closed the door. He didn't want to intrude on them. They needed their sleep and the closer they were to each other, the better. Back in the living room, Lincoln started to turn on lights and rouse the rest of the group. Abruzzi had heard what they needed to last night, about when their flight was, so it was time for the group to reassemble. The two remaining room began to stir and wake, in midst of their curses and protests.

Lincoln glanced back at the hall as he gathered items in the kitchen, taking on the fathering role he had buried inside of him. His brother was safe with the woman he loved; what more could he ask for. Everything that mattered was in that room.


	5. I'll Find You

A/N: Hey everyone! Who's ready for Christmas? I'm just happy first semester is over for the year. I get to sleep. Anyway, I'm not totally sure where some people got the idea that Lincoln left the group, but he didn't. I guarantee you. That said, here's the next chapter. Much love!

XXXX

Michael's dark eyelashes furrowed, putting pressure on his wakening eyes to stay closed. The clinking of household activity in the kitchen floated through the still air outside the bedroom, but managed to echo in Michael's well-trained ears, alerting his senses so that the situation could be calculated. He took in every feel of the room, without opening his eyes, but laid there.

He couldn't turn his brain off, not for one night.

His muscles ached, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He cracked open an eye, patiently allowing his vision to adjust to the light on in the corner and the light flowing from the cracked open door. Glancing at the clock, he saw disappointing numbers displayed in bright green rays. His eyes fell on Sara, sensing his partner beginning to stir, and a smile appeared, happy the previous had not been part of a dream. His hand swept over Sara's head, brushing away locks of hair so he could see her breathtaking face. She looked so peaceful sleeping; all the problems seemed to drift off when he watched her.

Sara shifted and sighed, lifting her body barely an inch off of Michael's body. She yawned and strained her muscles slightly to wake herself up, but tire still burned. She slowly sat up, placing her hands in front of her from so they were on one side of Michael, and stretched some more. Michael watched her, changing positions so he was lying flat on his stomach. He closed his eyes again, denying the future to happening, and breathed. In and out, slow and relaxing.

He heard Sara say his name in a melodic, yet drawn tone. "You have to get up. Your plane leaves in an hour."

That said, Sara threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood, pausing so her legs could sustain the weight of being asleep for hours. She grabbed her hairbrush from the nightstand, slipping into her normal morning routine, unknowingly being watched by Michael. Before she got a chance to run the needles through her hair, Michael reached out, grasped her hand and yanked her gently back into the bed, immediately pinning her on her stomach, preventing her from getting up again.

Sara's laughter was heaven to Michael's ears. He hadn't really gotten a chance to hear her laugh, only in those small occasions, but even then he wasn't sure she really had the heart to mean it. He smiled and began to childishly tickle her, making her scream with laughter, begging him to stop. Surrendering, Michael let her go and rolled off her, propping himself up on his elbow, chin pressed onto his knuckle.

Sara glared at Michael menacingly, a sarcastic fury. "Sleep well?" she asked, talking softly.

"Surprisingly yes. I haven't slept that solid since…before I went to prison." He paused, lightly blushing. "You?"

Sara nodded. "Ditto. I've never slept that well."

Michael broke a small smile. Inching over slowly, he placed his hand on the small of her, just barely touching her skin, and leaned down, eyes still engulfed in Sara's. He pursed his lips together and gently blew his breath on her skin while his hand drew up her top. The tips of his fingers slid up and down her spine. She shuddered again, the feverish pleasure beginning to course through her veins as he placed tender kisses on her naked shoulder, lightly flicking out his tongue to tickle her skin. A low moan, barely hearable, escaped Sara's lips.

Tilting her neck to the side, she batted open her eyes and stared at Michael, sexual tension apparent in her stare. Smiling to himself, Michael captured her lips in a desired kiss. A loud bang on the door broke them apart, reluctantly.

"You two lovebirds want to get out here already? We gotta talk!" Abruzzi's voice boomed from the other side.

Michael groaned, disappointed, and fell back on the bed. Sara tried to smile for him, but kissed him instead, before standing again. She grabbed her hairbrush and began to thread the needles through her hair as she tramped to her dresser, opening and closing numerous drawers. She finally pulled out a matching pair of black lace panties and a bra, laying them on the dresser top and moving on to her closet.

Since Michael was already dressed, he just watched her. But when she brought out that assemble his eyebrows arched and his eyes were transfixed on them. He looked from Sara to the lingerie and back again. He moaned again, pinching the bridge of his nose. _No woman should wear that unless it's going to be seen, _he clarified. Stumbling out of the bed, he ventured straight for the lingerie. He picked the panties up and held them out, examining ever inch. He grinned devilishly; he was going to like these.

"Don't even think about it." Sara warned, snatching them away along with the bra.

"Have you always had them? They look new." Michael stated.

"They are." Sara replied nonchalantly.

"Well,"—he eyed them, smirking even more—"I think they're going to be my new friends."

"Yeah?" Sara asked, slinking up to him, her hips swaying rhythmically. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips nearing his.

In response, Michael's arms wound around her waist. "Yeah."

Smiling at him, she kissed him, leaving him wanting more when she backed away. She fingered the hem of her tank top and swiftly pulled it over her head, shaking her hair out. Michael turned around, putting his back to her. She deserved a little privacy, she figured. They'd kissed, yet—to him—that didn't mean he was allowed to see the whole package yet. There were still things that needed to be said between them; it wouldn't be fair to her. He cleared his throat. Sara watched him shift and hurried dressing.

"Michael, you can turn around." she stated.

Michael did and his eyes widened. Before him was a beautiful Sara Tancredi, dressed in hip-hugger jeans and a black V-neck silk tee. Sara smiled, remembering that he'd never seen her in jeans before, and entwined her fingers in his.

"You didn't have to do that." she informed him.

Michael shrugged. "You ready?"

"Do we have a choice?"

Michael kissed her head and squeezed her hand. This whole thing felt weird, the fact that they were about to seemingly present themselves to three other escaped convicts who he knew where secretly waiting for him to "score" Sara. He rolled his eyes and opened the door, leading the way. He gripped Sara's hand as they descended down the hall to where the rest of the group was waiting. Just as they entered, they were greeted with applause.

"About damn time." Abruzzi yelled, muffling Lincoln's congratulations.

"Shut up guys. What are we, teenagers?" Michael said, maneuvering to the kitchen.

Sara playfully hid behind Michael as he poured them both a glass of orange juice. He handed her glass to her, chuckling at her chagrin movements. He put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her head again, ignoring the three sets of eyes witnessing this. Michael looked around and noticed dishes in the sink, indicating the men had already eaten and were ready to go.

"Okay," Michael began, wanting to get down the plan before they went any further. "Here's the plan—"

"We already know." Lincoln interrupted. Michael stared at him, confused. "Sucre overheard last night. We know the whole deal. We called the airport and asked for a list of the flights leaving at that time. Most of them were completely stupid and didn't seem like the places Doc would send us until the man mentioned something about Bora Bora. That sounded right, so Abruzzi made a few calls and we're all set, hotel, transportation and all."

Michael and Sara were speechless, even between the both of them. Finally, Sara wrung her hands together. "Okay then. So, you should leave in probably…" She glanced at the clock. "Ten minutes."

She detached herself from Michael and pulled some things out from the cabinets, including a bag of Starbucks coffee. Lincoln approached her and the two fell into a pleasant conversation while Sara proceeded to fix coffee. Michael grasped the plastic bag that the newspaper came in and depleted it, letting the thick paper splatter on the counter. Sipping his coffee, he read the morning's headlines. Something at the top of the front page caught his eye. He grinned and flipped through the rest of the paper until he found it: a special 10-page section on their escape alone.

"Look at this." he awed. "We get a special section just for us." Sucre appeared at his side and read the articles with him. Michael hummed. "No leads. Figures."

Sucre nudged him. "Way to go, Fish. You got your girl."

Michael nodded and looked over his shoulder, half-listening to what Lincoln was telling Sara, which seemed to be about how she compared with his other past girlfriends; he was saying she was better suited for him. Michael saw a look of surprise appear through her laughter when Lincoln mentioned "sister-in-law." She had no response for that comment.

" "Each of these men are kind, they're respected. I don't know what caused them to do this. It doesn't seem like them." Doctor Sara Tancredi stated yesterday morning, speaking fondly of each man. Maybe too fondly of the lead escape artist, Michael Scofield—brother to Lincoln Burrows, the man sentenced to death earlier this year for the murder of the Vice President's brother—who she happens to see daily. Whispers have circulated through the prison since Scofield's arrival concerning any romantic involvement between the two and her involvement in their grand escape." Sucre read out loud, drawing everyone's attention.

He finished but was only presided with silence. All eyes turned to either Michael or Sara. Michael was looking at Sara and Sara was looking at Michael. Michael swallowed. "I didn't…I didn't want you to get involved."

"It's okay. I'm used to it. I've been questioned about you enough times to have an automatic response." Sara said.

"Sara…"

"Michael…" She hesitated. "No leads, huh? Maybe you'll get our of here without incident."

Michael opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when the phone rang. All eyes turned to the phone in one swift movement. Sara narrowed her eyes at it, puzzled, but also hoping it wasn't her father checking in on her. She picked up the phone and bid hello, acting as if she'd just woken as a cover-up.

"Miss Tancredi, naughty, naughty. Hiding convicts in your house." the dark voice tsked.

Sara bit her lip then scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about?"

"You know. What would your father say if he knew his daughter was housing the men that escaped yesterday? If he only knew how involved you are."

"Who is this!" Sara yelled. Michael moved forward, face now etched with anger. He stood off a couple inches.

"Are all Tancredi's like this? Maybe the press should know, know that you and that Scofield are all over each other. Do you love him, Miss Tancredi?"

"Where the hell are you?"

"I've been watching you all night. Those men showed up about half an hour before you did. Suppose they can trust you." Sara looked up at the men, each watching her, confused. "Never underestimate your neighbors…Sara. The police should be along shortly."

Sara's face drained of all color at that moment, going as pale as a ghost. Her hands grew weak, barely able to hold the phone to her ear. "Who are you?" she managed, voice breaking.

"I've already told you. I wouldn't attempt to get them out if I were you. There will be consequences."

Michael saw Sara falter, her eyes sinking with tears. He grabbed the phone from her and yelled into the receiver, "Who is this? Talk dammit!"

There was a click as the other line disconnected. The dial tone answered. He threw the phone on the couch, suppressing the rage to throw it at a wall. Sara's hand grabbed her head as dizziness came over her, causing her to collapse in exhaustion. Michael caught her before she could hit the floor and he carefully eased her onto the floor. Lincoln, Abruzzi, and Sucre crowded them.

Michael cupped Sara's face, searching her eyes for any clue of what had just happened. "Sara, what? Tell me. Sara…"

Sara looked at him, her vision blurring. "You have to go…now…"

"Sara—"

The distant sound of police sirens wailing engulfed the atmosphere, quieting everyone. Abruzzi broke the frightened air and cursed, punching the air.

"Mike, we have to go. We have to listen to Doc." Lincoln said, hand clasped on his younger brother's shoulder.

Michael helped Sara stand, but she then brushed him off and darted for the kitchen. As they readied, grabbing up last minute things, Sara prepared four cups of coffee, using paper cups she had bought for occasions like this. She rummaged through another cabinet and pulled out a tight roll of something. She announced coffee just as they were heading out the door and gave them each some. Lincoln kissed Sara on the cheek, thanking her, as did Sucre. Everyone but Michael headed for the door. He tried to smile.

Sara engulfed him in a tight hug. "Stay safe, okay." Michael nodded. "No one will know you were here."

"Thank-you." Michael breathed, smelling her hair one last time.

Sara pulled back and handed the small roll she had gotten from the cabinet. "Take this."

Sara slapped it flat in his palm, but he offered it back. "I can't take this. It's too much."

"Take it. It'll get you by for awhile."

He nodded and bit his lip then hugged her again. Reluctantly, he left the apartment and joined his brother outside. Sara stood in the living room, staring at the door that the man she loved just left through. She took a breath, fighting the lump in her throat. Her hands enveloped her face, tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving a print.

She couldn't fragment it. How had all this happen? How had she become so involved with these men? Why did she have this odd connection with them? Her mind ran over the nights events, all that had happened. Thinking about Michael made her smile, but also made her heart tear even more. She couldn't imagine never seeing Michael again, but the more she thought about it, that seemed to be the most likely possibility now. She knew she couldn't live a life on the run; she had so much here, so much planted. But she also knew she couldn't live a life not seeing his face again, a life always wondering. Constantly wondering where he was, if he was alive, what would have happened if they did get their chance. She never felt what she felt for Michael. It was new and alien, but she was ready.

If only she could see him.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and Sara gasped, head flying up to it. She straightened her hair instinctively and wiped away the tears, preparing for what she assumed were the cops coming to investigate. She opened the door and was surprised to see Michael.

He held up a finger. "Almost forgot…"

He reached her in one stride, cupped her face and kissed her passionately. Sara threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him to take full effect of the kiss. When oxygen became a priority, Michael pulled away slightly and rubbed his nose with Sara's, breath heaving. He wiped away the tears lingering on the rims of her eyes.

"I've wanted to do that for a _long_ time." he said.

Sara nodded and looked at him. "Me too."

Michael kissed her again, but slower this time. Tears came to eyes, just thinking about leaving Sara behind and possibly not being able to protect her from what was coming. He wiped them away immediately, but Sara smiled through a kiss and hugged him, attaching to him.

"I can't do this, Sara." Michael confessed. "I can't just run and leave you behind. I want this all to go away…just…disappear. I just want to be with you."

"I know. I feel the same, I do, but you've come to far. You have to keep going." The swell of emotions overcoming her didn't even let her voice vocalize the last three words; they were merely movements of the lips. She paused, staring at him. "Maybe I shouldn't stay. I'll leave. I'll come with you."

"You can't. It sounds perfect, but they'll all get suspicious."

"Michael—"

She suddenly stopped when the sound of helicopters propelling towards them underneath the mob of sirens wailing. "I have to go." Michael whispered.

He tried to pull away, but Sara grabbed Michael's hand. "Please don't. Let me come with you. Don't leave me like this."

"I have to; I have no choice."

Sara kissed him with all her might. She knew that when she let go, he would be gone and she believed that if she held on, he wouldn't. "How can I find you?"

"I'll find you. Trust me."

Sara was quiet and Michael kissed her one last time before he walked out the door, unknowingly breaking her heart again. "I do." She whispered to the wind.

Outside, Michael ran down the concrete stairs, jumping off the last two, and climbed into the Escalade, taking the keys from Sucre in the passenger seat. Since he was the last one to have a license and still had it with him, he was most eligible to drive. Sucre sat beside him, Lincoln behind him and Abruzzi next to Lincoln. Quiet talk filled the air, each sipping their coffee.

Michael took his first sip of Sara's coffee and smiled afterward, taking in the sweet tang he hadn't tasted in a month. "God,"—he slouched in his seat—"I think I've fallen more in love."

"Hey Michael…" Lincoln leaned forward and patted his brothers shoulder. "I like her. Keep her."

"Man, Scofield, you may have some competition. I love this woman's coffee." Abruzzi commented, sipping his drink.

Michael shot a mock glare at the former mob boss. Then, like siblings playfully fighting, he reached back and swatted Abruzzi. Playing along, the older man put up a fight, blocking Michael's swats and serving a few counter punches before Lincoln intervened. The trio was too occupied that none of them heard Sucre.

"Car." Sucre mumbled, holding the coffee cup with both hands drawn up to his lips. He repeated the word, but got no response. "Fish!" he shouted, getting Michael's attention. "Car!"

Michael turned back to the road and saw that they were coming up on another car waiting at a red light, hauling ass too fast. Everyone braced as Michael slammed on the brakes, the car lurching forward with the sudden action. They halted just barely missing the other cars back bumper. No one moved.

Sucre's hand outstretched and hit Michael over the head. "Are you trying to get us all killed? I'd like to see my son be born!"

"Who the hell taught you to drive?" Lincoln added.

Michael glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "You."

Lincoln paused. "Shut up."

The light changed and Michael pulled out into the intersection along with the other car then turned left. "Man, I spilled my coffee." Abruzzi whined.

Back at Sara's apartment, the prison doctor scurried around the apartment. She ran about her bedroom, hiding away anything that the cons had touched. She was knelt down beside her bed, throwing away any stray items when there was a knock on the door. She slowly stood up, peaking over the mattress to the door, and walked through the rooms to the door. She tousled up her hair and cracked the door open, only allowing her face to be shown.

Two men in uniform stood before her, accompanied by two police cars. She smiled weakly at them. "Can I help you, officers?"

XXXX

A/N: Two chapters left!


	6. Circles

**A/N: **Hey everyone. This chapter will take place 3 months later. I really didn't feel that how Sara dealt with the police was a very important event to have a whole chapter dedicated to it so, this'll be a short summary of that and then it'll continue. Much love.

**Disclaimer: **This song belongs to Mariah Carey, not me.

XXXX

**Three month later…**

Sara collapsed on the couch, hair bouncing as she fell, and braced her chin on her knuckle. The remote, shining as the light from the television hit the plastic, was held tightly in her right hand, limply strewn across her tucked in legs. Her index finger roved over the buttons, her eyes never blinking as the channels flipped and it went black for a moment before a new image, stranger than the first, filled the screen. Her mind never interpreted the images; she was absent-minded at that point, nothing completely clicking in her mind because she was lost. The calm voice of Mariah Carey's new album didn't even deter her far-off thoughts.

_Ever since you left me  
I've been trying to hide the pain  
Painting on a smile with lipstick  
Putting on a big charade  
So difficult to keep pretending  
It's getting harder everyday  
It's plain to see I'm cold and heartsick  
Since you turned and walked away  
I just keep going round and round  
And round in circles  
Keep on tumbling down_

It'd been three months since the Fox River escapees had drifted out of the country in the cloak of darkness, plunging into a life of utter seclusion until they could appear without having to watch their every step. After they had left, Sara had fallen into a state of numbness. The police had shown up shortly after she had successfully gotten them out, only to have the real nightmare begin there. She wasn't allowed a good day after that. Only two cops had showed up in the beginning, but more and more officers made their appearance as the night went on, peaking out into the early morning hours. For hours they had interrogated her, each of them asking the same questions as she sat in the living room, hands in a prayer form, while her apartment was searched. As the clocked had rolled to four forty-five, Sara had bowed her head and prayed they had gotten on the plane safely with interruption.

She flatly denied she had had visitors, which seemed to work because not one fingerprint or evidence for foul play had been found.

_Oh boy my world has changed  
And I don't think I can make it without you  
Nothing's the same  
You got me running around in circles over you  
(running around in circles over you)_

Unfortunately, her story didn't convince a couple of the senior lieutenants as she was escorted to the police station and questioned further. In those two short days she was held their, confined to a cell just like the men she cared for everyday, excused from work and not allowed to talk to anyone outside the station, she learned that there had been quite a few sightings through most of the first night but most turned out to be dead ends. One cop had pointed out that he saw a black Escalade parked in the shadows next to Sara's apartment building; turns out the man that had been standing on the sidewalk when Sara had arrived home was the owner of the car…and was making an emergency drug delivery. That made Sara's story only slightly easier to believe, not to mention she was laid off for a few hours while that man was located and arrested.

_Saturday I saw you  
Holding hands with someone new  
Somehow I kept my composure  
Just like everything was cool  
But inside I kept repeating  
Don't you let them see you cry  
So I casually turned my head  
As the tears rolled down my eyes  
I just keep going round and round  
And round in circles  
Keep on tumbling down_

The Governor marched into the police station when Sara was released from the station, innocent of any criminal acts. After that she returned to the prison to work, as normal, but things transformed into not so banal after that. People were constantly watching her inside the walls, or some of the brave inmates would actually ask her about the escape, like she knew every detail of what had happened that night. Reporters, previously dying down from drying news about the escape, flocked back to the prison in hopes of getting an interview with the famous Sara Tancredi. As the days worsened with public interest, unsettling the inmates, the Warden declared, in a public announcement, that he felt Dr. Tancredi was the best doctor the prison could hope for and no amount of bad attention was going to change that. She kept her job. Most days she shut herself in the infirmary discouraged to deal with nosy people with nothing better than to make up lies about someone else like high school gossip, but that too changed.

_Oh boy my world has changed  
And I don't think I can make it without you  
Nothing's the same  
You got me running around in circles over you_

Her father, the public man he had become since winning his election, negotiated for a private interview with the Chicago Tribune. Sara had been reluctant; by then three weeks had passed since the escape and she saw no point in boring people with old news. But the issue came out with a large picture of her on the front page, headline blaring 'The Secret Relationship!' It became national garbage, reaching all the way to New York and even Washington D.C.

Then came the fateful day.

_Everything is you  
How can I pull through  
My heart is consumed I'm so confused  
Still caught up in you...love can be so cruel  
Baby don't know how to turn you loose_

It was nearly a month after they escaped and at the peaking point of when everything grew out of hand in Sara's life. It had started as normal as it was at that point. She drove to work earlier than usual, due to the onset of reporters waiting for her to show, and crept into the prison, checking in and such as her routine went. She never once looked at the paper or the news. It was around nine when Stacey, making herself more available during the day incase Sara needed to talk, disturbed her appointment with another regular and informed her that the Pope needed to talk to her. Upon seeing the woman's drunken eyes and the sympathetic line her lips formed when Sara excused herself after the man was taken back to his cell told her immediately something was wrong. Something had happened. She wasn't disappointed.

_Oh boy my world has changed  
And I don't think I can make it without you  
No, nothing's the same  
You got me running around  
And running around  
And running around  
Nothing's the same  
Baby baby cause you  
Got me running around  
In circles over you  
(running around in circles over you)_

The atmosphere around the Pope's office was a sorrowful one; even the secretary was determined to avoid looking her in the eye when she walked in. The older man, graying hair slicked back, had his back to her when she entered, his sagacious eyes roving over the many people stalking the outside gates. He didn't turn to her for a few moments. But he wasted no time in telling her why she was there. He turned on the television—set inside the shelves against the wall—to a news broadcast he had obviously recorded because a line of static would scan across the screen every couple minutes. Tears had come to her eyes at the images. Footage of a car blazing on a foreign high way, cascading an explosion of black smoke into the air, glazing with the red and orange embers, was plastered across the screen. Underneath, in almost unreadable words, said 'Man Hunt for Fugitives Ends in Fiery Car Crash.' The Pope explained that the scorned bodies of four men had been picked from the ash-gray car once the fire was finally put out; two hours later dental records had been established.

They were of John Abruzzi, Fernando Sucre, Lincoln Burrows and Michael Scofield.

Sara had nearly fainted from shock. The Pope attempted to comfort her, but Sara couldn't hear anything but the woman's voice repeating the information over and over again on the broadcast. Apparently the car had crashed in the early morning in Puerto Rico, spinning across the highway twice before colliding with a stone wall and exploding in a great blaze. Not another word was uttered from her the rest of the day unless absolutely necessary.

Sitting on her couch, staring blindly at the television, she could remember with a smile why that was the worst day and the best day of her life.

_She was huddled on her bed, legs drawn up to her chest as her head was buried in the soft fabric of her night pants. She felt like a fragile girl sitting there crying, shunned in her room, but she didn't care. She'd been like that for a while, crying all the tears she had strongly held in her inside the prison. She had burst into tears the second she stepped into her apartment and her eyes found the origami rose on her nightstand. _

_The phone suddenly rang. Sara watched it ring with no intention of picking it, but after a while, when the caller turned relentless to reach her and the phone was stringing her last nerve, she picked up the phone and held it to her ear._

_"No comment." She said automatically._

_She had the phone two inches from her ear, in the process of replacing it in its cradle, when she heard a familiar voice. His voice. "Sara…"_

_She stopped dead and subconsciously put the phone back to ear, thinking she had finally lost herself in her grief for a man she realized she barely knew. The tears rushed back out when the voice graced her ears again, repeating her name. "Sara…it's me." _

_She uncoiled herself and set her feet on the ground, her unoccupied hand gripping the bed. Her head was tipped down, tears falling from her eyes. "Michael…" she whispered, voice breaking. _

_"Hi. I got in touch, just like I promised." Michael joked, trying to lighten the heaviness that was already clouding the call. All he could think about then was how harmonious it was to hear her voice again. It'd felt like forever._

_Sara didn't say anything for a moment, clamping her lips together to muffle the sob that was threatening to erupt. "I…I thought you were dead." _

_Michael tried to laugh, but it didn't come out correctly. "No, we're not dead. We're very much alive and unharmed, I promise." The sob in Sara's throat came out without warning, catching her breath so it came out more heartbreaking. Michael sunk to the floor where he was at that sound and put his face in his hands; he hated having to cause her so much pain. "Please…please don't cry. Sara." _

_"Where are you?" Sara asked, finally able to control the reactions of her body. _

_"We're in Panama; Lincoln, Sucre, Abruzzi and I. We're doing just fine. That fire was staged; we had to fake our own deaths so we could be free. It was just a stage." He paused. Sara heard someone's voice behind him saying they had to leave to somewhere. "Sara, I want to talk to you so bad. I'm going to write. The envelope won't have a return address and, when you write back, don't put a return address. We can't take that risk." _

_"How will I know where to write?" _

_"Do you have something to write on. I'm going to give the address of the place we're staying." Sara grabbed a notepad and pen. He gave her the address in a rush, obviously because he was being pushed to leave. "Send it under the name Marley Miller. That's our name for the moment. I'll talk to you later. Bye." _

_Before Sara could say the same, Michael hung up and the dial tone filled her ear. She held the phone for a moment, like Michael would magically come back to the other line. She finally set it down and stared at the notepad in her hand. _

The couple wrote to each other as much as possible for two months after that. The first letter came within two days of their conversation; Michael had mailed it well before their conversation and his fake death. Sara was happy to learn that they had gotten to Bora Bora safely, but had to migrate to Puerto Rico when someone approached them about their familiar faces. After that they had lived in seclusion for a couple weeks until they decided what their plan was. Their plan: a Whole Nine Yards copycat. This included finding already dead bodies, making replica teeth and putting them inside the corpses. Michael refused to explain the rest, but he did say that they were in another country by the time the news broke. Sara went on to write, in detail, what had happened surrounding their disappearance and how hounded she felt every day. Michael was, predictably, sympathetic and expressed his rage in the letters towards the people who treated her illy. He even wrote that the rest of the group felt the same and there were a couple death offers, which were complete jokes, but Sara was touched at how they cared for her.

One day Sara received a letter addressed to her, but with no return address. She hastily tore into it, happy that something was going to brighten her stale day. Inside was a two-page letter and a yellow origami rose. The letter explained everything to her, including why he had escaped, who he really was, and his feelings for her. At the end of the letter—signed _Love, MS—_Sara was in tears.

That was the last letter she had gotten from Michael till today. Sara glanced to her side and her eyes, filing into focus, drifted to a postcard isolated on the coffee table. On the front was a beautiful canvas of the sun—sprinkled orange and pink, surrounded by the sky streaked purple, blue, red and light pink and yellow—setting across the still ocean, a disfigured sand castle built in the sand in the corner. When she had first saw it, she had stared at it, marveling its beauty, before she remembered to turn it over. It was from Michael and he was still in Panama. On the back was one small paragraph:

_Sara, I need to see you. I'm going mad not being able to be near you, to see you…to touch you. Please, meet me somewhere. Tuesday, at the El Trapiche around 5. The sun sets at that time; it's the most breathtaking sight you'll ever see. They have hammocks on the back deck that leads down to the beaches and it doesn't get too crowded so it's very relaxing. Beers are 75 cents, 50 cents at happy hour. _

_Love, MS_

Sara read it over again, thumbing the corner of the postcard against her finger. The way he described it, it sounded like heaven in the exotic sun. Half of herself told her to go, she deserved it with all the crap suffocating her, but another half reminded herself that he had confessed she was only a part of his grand scheme that he, inadvertently, carefully planned. She was his pawn.

Sara sighed and shook her head, trying to decide what she wanted to her. Suddenly fed up with herself, she stood up and stalked to her bedroom, plopping down in her desk chair. Her eyes found the black screen of her computer.


	7. True Love Unmasked

**A/N: **Such an event comes to a valiant end. I'm so sad this will be the last chapter, but it's been very fun while it lasted. I'd just like to thank everyone who stuck with me and this story from the beginning; you guys were the reason I continued. I didn't think anyone would like it, but this one story turned out to be my most viewed piece and most reviewed. So, again, thank-you. Okay, enough emotion, lets get to the story. Here's the end!

XXXX

Sara squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the steel armrest as the plane throttled, vibrating as the coarse wind jutted the aircraft into a minim shake. The steel bird trembled for a moment longer before settling into a peaceful glide. Sara, a sufferer of a childhood phobia for flying, took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes.

"Ladies and gentleman, it appears we're going to have slight turbulence as we near the landing strip, so please remain calm and we'll be on the ground in a moment's time." The deep, but gentle voice of the pilot said over the intercom.

The young man seated beside Sara looked at her, chuckling to himself, and slightly nudged her. She glanced at him. "First time?" he asked in a soft, swaying voice.

Sara smiled. "I don't like flying." she stated bluntly.

"Then what brings you all the way to Panama?" he questioned further.

"I'm meeting someone."

"A lover?"

Sara stared at him, questioning this man's motives. He appeared harmless in a flat cap and sleeveless vest; he looked like a sophisticated artist or perhaps a wealthy farmer. "Something like that."

"And you're nervous about seeing him, right? Haven't seen him in a while, questioning why you're even on this plane." the man guessed, ranting on as if he knew Sara.

Sara laughed, hiding her embarrassed face in her hands. "Am I that obvious?"

"You've been fidgeting the whole ride." he observed. "Constantly looking out the window, your hands, twiddling your thumbs, many drinks…not to mention that thing where you folded that paper you had until it was barely a speck."

"Am I to believe you were spying on me?"

"Not spying." The man leaned in close, the tip of his hat brushing Sara's hair. "I just remember the first time I came here to Panama and I did the exact same thing." Sara's eyes shot up to him. "My wife—then she was my girlfriend—was forced to move here with her family and we couldn't be together. So, we were apart for two years and one day she wrote me and asked me to come see her. I was so nervous and I couldn't believe I was putting myself through that. See her parents didn't trust me—we were from two different societies, so it wasn't proper. Then we landed and I saw her and we haven't been apart since."

Sara smiled, awing silently. "That's sweet."

The man put his rough hand on her arm. "You'll be fine, it'll be fine."

"Thanks." The plane shook again and Sara's hands clenched into a fist tightly. The man chuckled. "It's not funny."

"It's a little funny." the man argued, smiling.

Sara's eyes drifted out the window and saw the beautiful Panama below them, looming to welcome them in. The sun, in the beginning stages of setting into the ocean, beat down on the streets and exotic sand, making the place glisten yellow and orange. She saw the small airport in the distance then cringed when the plane curved to the side to enter the direction of the landing runway where the plane was to set down. _Michael, _Sara whispered.

She was so filled with emotion, gazing at the city, that she didn't notice that the plane was spiraling towards the ground, maneuvering through the buildings to the airport. Somewhere in this city, Michael was anxiously waiting for her, waiting to see her and be near her. She'd stayed awake all night debating over what she should do, if she should board a plane or let the day wash away. In the end, the pros outlisted the cons. Nearly twelve hours ago, she'd gotten on a plane, ready to let life take her where ever she was to go, and now she was landing in Panama City and she was nervous out of her mind.

Suddenly, Sara felt the wheel's touch the pavement and the plane bounced. Her hand instinctively grabbed her seat belt as the plane launched forward as it slowed at a grand speed. Quickly enough, the speed stopped and they were settled to a stop. Sara looked around and smiled to herself. She was here; there was no turning back. Her traveling companion began to gather his things, standing in the aisle to open the compartment above their seats. He yanked out a long duffel, watching that his elbow didn't strike the man behind him, then pulled out a tote bag. With a smile, he handed the bag to Sara, who was standing, but was bent down so her head wouldn't hit the ceiling.

The passengers filed out orderly, one-by-one, without getting rowdy, clutching their on board bags. Sara followed the crowd out into the portable hallway, glancing in between the crack to see a little car drive by underneath them. The man she had been sitting with was in front of her and the moment he stepped into the gate, he stopped and his eyes roved over the waiting people. Sara watched as his face lit up and a smile crossed his lips.

"Daddy!"

Sara looked out and saw a small girl in a sundress running towards them, smiling as her pigtails jumped on and off her shoulders. The man looked at Sara and lightly hit her on the shoulder. "Hey, good luck to you." he said before he moved forward, dropped his bag on a chair beside him and opened his arms wide.

The small girl leaped into his arms and hugged him tightly, laying a wet kiss on his cheek. He circled once then caught sight of a woman watching them in the distance. Sara watched the man greet this woman and kiss her, taking her into his arms and showering her with love. Her eyes welled with tears at this. Her lips parted suddenly and she looked around. Breathing through her lips, heart welling up with emotion, she took off at a run, barreling past people.

XXXX

Sara stared out the window of the cab and watched Panama City driving past, her chin buried in the palm of her hand. Her wasn't dare letting herself speak or think about anything other than Michael waiting for her. She'd checked into her hotel and immediately gotten a cab to take her to El Trapiche, the restaurant she was to meet Michael at. It'd been nearly four o'clock when the plan had landed, giving her a precious hour.

The driver slowed the car in front of a tidy stone and wood restaurant, the true style of Panama shining in the atmosphere of the place. She stared at the place, then finally snapped into reality when the driver turned to her. She paid him and opened the door, gathering her small handbag. She gathered herself on the sidewalk, smiling politely at people passing her, and smoothed out her orange peasant skirt.

It took all her might not to fall apart and lose her nerve as she glided into the restaurant, asking the waiter if their was a customer under the name Miller. The hostess smiled and told her to look on the deck. Before Sara could scurry away, the woman commented how cute the man was, making Sara smile. That was Michael; always charming the ladies. Sara ventured around the restaurant, looking for the entrance to the deck, then saw a stream of light and followed it. She stood at the doorway outside and looked at all the faces.

She stopped when she saw him. There he was, dressed down in loose cargo pants and partially unbuttoned shirt, bobbing his leg and checking his watch as his gaze watched the orange sun setting over the water. He picked up a glass and sipped on his fifty-cent beer. The butterflies that had died slightly suddenly came back at the sight of him. His skin was tanned from the many days in the sun, no longer pale and poisoned from a life in prison.

"Michael." Sara said, loud enough so it'd get his attention.

Michael looked over when he heard her voice and grinned instantly. He stood, like a gentleman, and gazed at her. He outreached his hand to her, in offering, and she took it, shuddering as his thumb began to stroke the side of her hand. A memory of when he did this before he escaped, when he said good-bye, flashed across her mind. Sara stepped forward and embraced him, wrapping her trembling arms around his neck.

"I've missed you so much." Michael admitted.

"Oh, you have no idea." Sara mumbled against his neck.

Sara leaned back, still locked in their embrace, but able to see his face. He looked different up close, he looked more relaxed and alive. She ran her hand over his still shaved head and smiled at him, inspecting every inch of his face. She brushed her lips across his lightly and pressed her forehead to his, hands clasped around his head, manicured fingers gliding over his ears.

"If you ever try to pull that stunt again, I swear to God…" Sara threatened.

"It was precaution, Sara—" Michael stopped at the look Sara was giving him. He nodded his head, bowing. "It won't happen, ever again." He looked over at the two-seater table he abandoned. "Would you like something to eat?"

Sara nodded. Michael stepped back, still holding onto both her hands, and examined her. She wore a orange peasant skirt and fitted white polo blouse, unbuttoned at the top to show her neck. Her flip-flops slapped the wooden deck as she sat down across from Michael, putting her handbag on the wood railing beside the table. She barely heard what Michael said next; she was too busy looking at the beach and ocean water, calmly lapping at the white sand.

"Sara?" Michael said, head titled to the side.

"It's so beautiful here." Sara marveled, her eyes glancing to him.

"Hey it is. Just like you."

Sara was the first to break into a laugh, followed eventually by Michael, whose laugh seemed more of embarrassment then amusement. "Nice line." Sara stated.

"Yeah. I know. It was too cliché." Michael confessed, scratching the back of his neck.

Sara smiled, eyes downcast to the table. "But it never gets old."

Michael looked at her. "I guess not." He paused, breaking their gaze. "I ordered a beer for you, before you came."

"You knew I was going to?"

"I hoped for it." Michael looked away for a moment. "But, honestly, I wasn't expecting you to."

"Ah, sorry to disappoint."

Michael leaned forward and took Sara's hands. "But I'm overjoyed you did. I've really missed you."

"Michael…" Sara cooed, coming out as a childish whine. Why couldn't she resist his charm? The waitor appeared at that moment, clad in black pants and a white dress shirt. He set down a full glass beer then disappeared. "So, how is everyone?" She took a sip of her beer. "Do you still talk to them?"

Michael nodded. "Yeah, but I guess we have to. We have to keep in touch incase something happens and we all have to leave, or something like that."

"And…? Where is everyone?"

"Well, I'm here…with you now. Abruzzi gathered his family a week ago and they're happily in Paris—"

"Oh la la!" Sara beamed, rocking her shoulders from side to side like a prissy cheerleader.

Michael could only laugh at her antics; how he loved this woman. "Yeah. Lincoln is with LJ, his son, and he is currently fulfilling a promise he made to Veronica."

"Veronica? Your lawyer, Veronica?"

Michael raised his eyebrows, illustrating his next words. "Long story."

"Okay, so they are…?"

"Florence…Italy." Sara awed then, smiling. "Yeah…"

"And Fernando? He was your cellmate, so he should be the easiest, right?"

"Well, I don't really know, but…" Michael leaned back and reached into his pocket. "I got this 2 days ago."

He retrieved an envelope, the tips torn open, and handed it to Sara. With an eyebrow raised, she took the envelope and pulled out a beautiful pearl white piece of paper. She skimmed the embroidered words and gasped.

"Michael Scofield and an honored guest are cordially invited to the wedding ceremony of Fernando Sucre and Maricruz…He's getting married!" Sara exclaimed. "That's amazing. When is it?"

"Next week, in Mexico City."

"Are you going to go?"

"Only if you'll be my date." Michael said slyly.

Sara rolled her eyes and scrunched her lips at Michael. "Are you always such a charmer?"

"Only around you." Michael admitted. "Going to prison was the best thing that ever happened to me, Sara. I found you. And I thank God everyday." Michael bowed his head then looked back at Sara. "I'm in love, Sara, with you."

XXXX

Sara fell asleep in Michael's arms not much later, swinging on the netted hammock, staring up at the vibrantly painted sky. Michael was still awake and was watching the sun again. It'd gone down a few minutes ago and left behind the sky, darkening at one side but still lit like fire on the other. Sara was securely cuddled against his body, laying on her side with her head on his shoulder and one hand in his. Wisps of red hair fell across her face, the wind blowing them over her smooth skin. Michael would brush them away or leave them in place, depending on if it stirred her sleep.

She said she hadn't gotten good sleep after her left. She told him she was staying at the magnificent Melia Panama Canal, a resort on the Panama Canal, but he offered that she stay with him, which she accepted.

Michael noticed out of the corner of his eye a waitress approach the couple. "Can I get you two anything?" she asked in a whisper, voice soft and low so as not to stir the sleeping woman.

"We're good, thanks." Michael assured.

The woman scurried away and Michael looked at Sara. A strand of hair was dancing across her cheek, shimming towards her eyes, and Michael tenderly brushed it away, curling it behind her ear. He kissed her forehead then his lips leaned in close to her ear, until they touched, skin to skin.

"I love you, Sara Tancredi." he whispered.

He shifted slightly and held her closer to his body, closing his eyes to fall into a content slumber. Forever is a long time unsure, but now they have each other and they don't care if the world accepts what their hearts tell them is true love unmasked.


	8. Authors Note

**Authors Note: **Hey everyone. As you may assume now, this letter has something to do with I'll Find You. Well, you're right. I've been thinking and I'd like to write a small sequel to this story, just following a few events, but the question remains, would anyone be interested in a sequel? I have an idea of what I'd like to do with it, but it'll only happen if anyone would like me to write one. So, would you?

Thanks so much.

JM


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